Chapter 39 Like Old times
The boardroom was steeped in quiet authority—the kind that came not from loud voices but from decades of influence. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooked the city skyline, the sun casting long, deliberate shadows across the polished mahogany table. Around it sat men whose names carried weight in boardrooms across continents. They were veterans of the industry—pillars who had weathered economic collapses, hostile takeovers, and political shifts. Power did not need to announce itself here; it simply existed.
Alexander Wentworth sat at the head of the table, his posture composed, his expression unreadable. To his right was Richard Montclair, equally poised, his fingers laced together as he listened to the final remarks of the meeting. The discussion had been rigorous—numbers, projections, acquisitions—but now it was over. Decisions had been made. Directions set.
One by one, the men rose from their seats.
Chairs scraped softly against the marble floor as conversations sparked in low tones. Assistants moved in swiftly, handing over tablets, briefcases, and coats. Laughter followed handshakes; promises of follow-up meetings were exchanged with the ease of men who had done this dance countless times before.
Richard rose, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit as his assistant leaned in to whisper something into his ear. He nodded once, already halfway toward the exit, when a familiar voice stopped him.
“Richard.”
He turned to see Alexander standing, his jacket already buttoned, a faint smile resting on his face.
Richard gestured to his assistant, who immediately stepped aside and moved a respectable distance away. “Alexander,” he greeted warmly. “I thought you had already left.”
“I was hoping to catch you before you did,” Alexander replied. “Do you have a moment?”
“Of course,” Richard said easily, though there was a subtle shift in his expression—curiosity sharpening his gaze. “What’s on your mind?”
They stepped slightly away from the dispersing group, finding a quieter corner of the room where the hum of departing conversations faded into the background. For a moment, Alexander said nothing. He clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes drifting briefly toward the window, as though considering how best to frame his thoughts.
“I was hoping to speak to you about our children,” Alexander said at last, his tone measured.
Richard’s brows lifted almost imperceptibly. “Our children?” he echoed. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no,” Alexander replied quickly, waving a dismissive hand. “Nothing is wrong. Quite the opposite, actually.” He paused, then continued, “I was thinking… don’t you believe it’s time they proceeded with the wedding?”
Richard studied him closely now. “The wedding?” he repeated. “It’s only been a month since the engagement.”
“Yes,” Alexander said, nodding. “A month already. Time moves quickly, Richard. They’re engaged, living under constant public attention, and—by all visible accounts—they’re in love.” He allowed himself a small, knowing smile. “What, then, is the delay?”
Richard exhaled softly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I understand your point,” he said carefully. “And I don’t disagree entirely. But I would like to speak to my daughter first.”
Alexander tilted his head slightly, inviting him to continue.
“It is their life we’re discussing,” Richard added. “No matter how strategic or beneficial the alliance may be, Elena deserves to have a voice in the timing. I won’t rush her without at least hearing her thoughts.”
For a split second, something unreadable flickered across Alexander’s face. Then it was gone, replaced by a calm, agreeable nod.
“Ah, of course,” he said smoothly. “Naturally. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” He smiled again, warmer this time. “I only wanted to share my thoughts with you before I spoke to Jaxon. I believe unity—between us—is important.”
Richard nodded. “It is.”
There was a brief silence, not uncomfortable but thoughtful. Outside the windows, the city moved on, oblivious to the quiet decisions being shaped above it—decisions that would ripple far beyond the glass walls of the boardroom.
Alexander broke the silence with a lighter tone. “It’s been a while since we’ve caught up properly,” he said. “Not as businessmen, but as old friends.”
Richard chuckled softly. “You’re right about that.”
“I was thinking,” Alexander continued, “perhaps we could go golfing together this Sunday. Like old times.”
Richard’s eyes brightened slightly at the suggestion. “Sunday?” he repeated. “Yes, that would be great. I could use the break.”
“Excellent,” Alexander said, extending his hand.
Richard shook it firmly. “It’s settled then.”
They exchanged a final smile—two men bound by history, ambition, and now the futures of their children—before turning in opposite directions. Richard called for his assistant, already mentally preparing for the conversation he would soon need to have with his daughter. Alexander, meanwhile, remained where he was for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on the empty chairs around the table.
To anyone watching, it would have seemed like nothing more than a casual exchange between colleagues.
Elena returned her attention briefly to the office around her, the late afternoon sun casting long, slanted beams across the polished glass desk. The hum of the air conditioner and the faint murmur of distant voices on the floor below were the only reminders that the world was still moving normally—unaware of the quiet storm building beneath her calm exterior.
She slipped her phone into her bag, fingers lingering for half a second longer than necessary, as though the weight of it carried more than just messages and notifications. It carried decisions. Consequences.
Brielle stood near the doorway, arms folded loosely across her chest, watching Elena with a look that mixed concern and curiosity. She knew that look well—Elena always wore it when she was about to step into something complicated and refused to admit it out loud.
“Text me when you’re done,” Brielle said softly. “Just so I know you’re fine.”
Elena offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I will.”
She walked out of the office, her heels clicking steadily against the marble floor as she made her way toward the private elevator. Employees greeted her respectfully as she passed, unaware that their composed director was walking straight into a personal matter that had nothing to do with contracts, branding, or quarterly profits.
The elevator doors slid shut behind her with a quiet chime, sealing her into a reflective silence. As it descended, her thoughts drifted—uninvited—back to Maya. To the shock in her voice. To the words that had lodged themselves in Elena’s chest and refused to dissolve.
I’m pregnant.
The underground parking lot greeted her with cool air and echoing space. Elena unlocked her car and slid into the driver’s seat, resting her hands on the steering wheel for a moment before starting the engine. She exhaled slowly, steadying herself. Whatever awaited her at that meeting, she would face it with the same composure she brought into boardrooms filled with men twice her age and influence.
The drive through the city was uneventful, traffic moving at a lazy pace as the workday drew to a close. Billboards flashed luxury brands and upcoming events, reminders of the world she inhabited—a world of appearances, alliances, and carefully curated narratives. She followed the location Jaxon had sent, noting that it wasn’t a restaurant or a public café, but a discreet lounge tucked away from the city’s louder districts.
That, in itself, told her a lot.
By the time she arrived, the sky had begun to soften into muted shades of gold and grey. Elena parked, stepped out, and adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. She paused briefly, catching her reflection in the glass doors of the building—poised, elegant, unreadable. Satisfied, she walked in.
The lounge was dimly lit, intimate, designed for privacy rather than spectacle. Soft music played in the background, and the low murmur of conversations blended seamlessly into the atmosphere. Elena scanned the room once before spotting Jaxon seated at a corner table, his posture rigid, his attention fixed on his phone.
He looked up almost immediately, as if he had sensed her presence rather than seen her. For a split second, something unreadable crossed his face—surprise, perhaps, or something closer to relief.
“You made it,” he said, standing.
“Of course,” Elena replied evenly, taking the seat across from him. “You didn’t think I’d back out, did you?”
Jaxon studied her for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Not you.”
There was a brief, heavy silence between them—one thick with everything left unsaid. Before either of them could speak again, a figure approached the table.
Maya.
She looked different from the last time Elena had seen her. Quieter. More guarded. Her eyes flicked briefly to Elena before settling on Jaxon, and she took the seat beside him, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
“you didn't have to bring the squad Jaxon, I thought it was just the two of us.” Maya said, her voice controlled.
Elena inclined her head politely. “why? Are you intimidated by my presence.”
Jaxon glanced between the two women, visibly uncomfortable, as though realizing—perhaps too late—that this meeting was far more complicated than he had anticipated.
A server approached to take orders, momentarily interrupting the tension. Once they were alone again, the air seemed to tighten, every word waiting on the edge of a blade.
Before anyone could speak, Jaxon’s phone buzzed against the table. He frowned, glanced at the screen, then turned it face down, clearly deciding it could wait.
Elena leaned back slightly, her expression calm, her voice steady when she finally spoke.
“Since we’re all here,” she said, “Lets get this over with.”
Maya rolled her eyes,her fingers curling inward.
Jaxon exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand along his jaw.
And just as the weight of the moment settled fully between them, the server returned with their drinks, placing them carefully on the table—an ordinary gesture in the middle of a situation that was anything but.
Elena wrapped her fingers around the glass, her gaze lifting to meet Maya’s, unwavering.